


Kellen: Fix Everything

by necrosweater



Series: OneAM-Bound [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abhorsen Bells, Gen, Re-evaluating life choices, Slaves as pets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 22:39:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necrosweater/pseuds/necrosweater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’ve hurt him so badly, so many times, and he’s just taken it, never saying anythi- <i>of course, how is he supposed to say anything the voice in your head snaps. You took his voice. Even if you hadn’t he probably wouldn’t say anything anyway, with the way you treat him! ‘You’re mine.’ ‘Such a good pet. He’s not a pet, he’s a troll. You’re sick, you’re wrong. The last time he said anything to you, you jammed a tube of drugs down his throat. You’re awful awful awful.<i> The worst part is that you’ve never even thought about it, the idea that any of the acts of cruelty you’ve committed were just that, <i>cruel<i> never even popped into your stupid, dumb seadweller head. </i></i></i></i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i><br/><i>You have an idea, suddenly.</i></i></p><p> </p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dyrim

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of an ongoing series. Said series also involves a large amount of stupid comics, as can be found at http://oneamcomics.tumblr.com .  
> Enjoy, or don't. The choice is yours.

Awful.

You’re awful.

You can’t believe you’ve never noticed. You can’t believe no one has told you. You sink to the floor, holding your face in your hands as tears start to fall unbidden from your eyes, an inner dialogue starting somewhere deep in your mind _awful awful you’re awful you’re awful awful awful _\- your mind flits to your basement, to all the horrible things you’ve done in it. You sob, remembering all the awful things you did to Reelas, who you’ve come to accept as your friend. You’ve hurt him so badly, so many times, and he’s just taken it, never saying anythi- _of course, how is he supposed to say anything the voice in your head snaps. You took his voice. Even if you hadn’t he probably wouldn’t say anything anyway, with the way you treat him! ‘You’re mine.’ ‘Such a good pet. He’s not a pet, he’s a troll. You’re sick, you’re wrong. The last time he said anything to you, you jammed a tube of drugs down his throat. You’re awful awful awful. _The worst part is that you’ve never even thought about it, the idea that any of the acts of cruelty you’ve committed were just that, _cruel _never even popped into your stupid, dumb seadweller head.______

______You have an idea, suddenly._ _ _ _ _ _

______You can fix everything, give Reelas his voice back. He might not know what to do. You don’t know what he’ll do, what he’ll say. He’ll probably repeat your thoughts; tell you how appalling you are. You have to take that chance though, give him the option to tell you in the first place. You often forget what some of your Bells can do, other than Kisbeth, Saraneth, Ranna, and occasionally Mosrael. You’ve never even thought of Dyrim. You whisper it’s use hoarsely to yourself, reciting from the book your lusus had shoved in your face the first time you picked up your learners Pipes: “ _Dyrim can return the voice that the Dead have so often lost! _” While Reelas is not dead, it might still work, and it’s more than you’ve ever tried before. You wipe your face, finger-comb your hair, and dash out into the hall where you keep your Bells on display.___ _ _ _ _ _

________You don’t even stop to look as your hand goes to the fourth, Dyrim. The polished horn handle feels right in your palm, and your heart races with excitement as you hug the Bell to your chest, one hand on the handle, one on the clapper. While Bells can be a wonderful thing, they can also cause harm to the user when handled carelessly. Your bare feet slap against the floor of your hive as you run around, calling for Reelas. He’s probably hiding, you think, looking at one of the many clocks you’ve hung around the walls. You feel a pang of guilt at the knowledge that your ( _not yours never yours he’s his own person you disgusting bitch _) troll feels the need to hide in order to sleep in your hive. You stop, trying to figure out where he would have gone off to hide. You’ve never really cared where he goes, so long as you can find him again and he comes back. You know your hive inside and out, however, so finding him shouldn’t be such a hassle. Your mind goes to a closet under the stairs, the one you found him in when he got in trouble for having a husktop without your knowledge… you’d dyed half your head yellow that night, worn his blood for most of the makeup on your face for a perigree afterward. He hadn’t felt safe around you for weeks after that; he hadn’t been able to meet your eyes with his blank silver ones for even longer. You worry your lip, wondering if you’ll feel this shame every time you think of anything to do with your friend for the rest of your life.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________You’re not surprised to find that particular closet empty, not so much as a fork from his collection left behind, but you know what kinds of places he likes: small, safe, cosy feeling spaces; there aren’t all too many of those in your hive, so that narrows down the list. You know you’ve found the right place when you hear rustling noises coming from the wall cavity at your approach. Unsure of how to proceed, you decide to jump right in._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Ree!” you whisper excitedly, eyes probably glowing as you swing the door open without warning. You were right about the hiding place, though you’d never guessed how much junk he could fit into such a small room. There are shells, forks, lighbulbs, bits of shiny material and string, just _stuff _jammed into every available spot of your previously empty closet. Reelas himself is curled up in a ball in his pile of things, eyes flying open in shock at your sudden entrance. Despite his lack of pupils, you can tell he’s looking around the room, probably panicking inside at the knowledge that you’ve found his hideout and all his junk, doing a mental inventory and praying nothing from your contraband list is present, or at least in sight. You realize he looks tired, and you’re not sure if that is one of the factors in why he hasn’t yet gotten up from his resting spot in the corner, or if he’s simply decided you’ll be so mad that it won’t hurt much more to lie there a bit longer anyhow. You choose not to let the guilt in your mind show on your face, and try to smile in as nonthreatening a manner as possible as you snatch his wrist up in one neatly manicured hand, hauling his reluctant frame out into the rest of the bigger room. Reelas grimaces and starts signing frantically with the hand that isn’t currently locked in your grip while nervously eyeing the Bell in your other hand. You don’t really pay attention to what he’s trying to get across, though you recognize fragments of ‘ _what’s going on __’ ' _slow down __’ and lastly a panicked ‘ _wasn’tmeiswearplease __’_________ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“Relax, Reelas. Clam yo’ non-existent little rumblespheres, man. Gotta show you somefin!” He stops trying to pull back his arm, which you drop anyway. He grabs his wrist tenderly and you realize you probably wrenched it a bit in your enthusiasm. “Follow me, you doof.” You lead him out to the more open cleared out area you use to practice griefing with your friends sometimes, and point to a spot in the middle of the floor for him to stand. Eyeing the Bell in your hand again, he starts up the frenzied signing again, not quite sparking. You know the only reason he hasn’t tried to fight back is because it’s you. “Hey. Shush. I’m just gonna try somefin here… shouldn’t hurt you, clam down, bucko. This is Dyrim, it won’t hurt you… it can’t you don’t uh… have a… voice…” you conclude rather lamely.  
Realization flashes in his eyes and you roll your eyes in a dramatic show of exasperation. “You ready for this, Sparky?” The look on his face says _not sure_ but his hands remain still, you think probably out of his brain trying to catch up and figure out why you’re suddenly trying to help him instead of offhandedly ruin another part of his life. ___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________You take a deep breath and ring the Bell._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Belgaer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm too tired to deal with formatting right now, so any issues with that will be fixed later. Sorry, and I hope you enjoy this meeting of the ReeXKell is Suffering Club. ~

Dyrim rings, a clear sweet sound of beauty. You're both smiling so wide, you think your faces are going to crack right in half. You think there are tears in Reelas' eyes, but you can't be entirely certain, nor can you be certain of the cause. Is he happy that you're trying? He's probably just happy you aren't overtly trying to harm him. You've given him enough reason to fear you over the sweeps.

"Did it work?" you whisper reverently, almost afraid to break the silence of the after-ring. You lock eyes, setting the Bell down carefully then going to evelope him in an enormous hug. He tenses, and you give him a look before taking in the upset look on his face. He's moving his mouth, but no sound is coming. He looks like a fish gasping out of water. You feel your fns droop in disappointment and squeeze him in another hug, this one infinitely more meaningful than the last.

"Whale, guppy. We tried. It was worth a shot, right?" you make a noise of frustration and bury your face in his collarbone region. He's so rigid, like a warm, yellow wall of wire. You stand there for a minute with your eyes smushed up against his shoulder before his hand comes up to awkwardly pat your back, before he returns the hug. It's like being wrapped in a heating pad, the difference in your body temperatures is so great. His warm hand rubs circles on your shoulderblades as you start to cry again, your horrible awful coloured tears staining through his shirt onto his skin.

"I'm sorry," you mumble into his sympathetic grip. "I reely thought it would work. I'm sorry I got your hopes up, and it was all for nothing, I just- I just wish I could fix everything. I don't deserve you. You don't deserve..." you pause, trying to convey as much sincerty in your tone as possible. You say so many things in a day but this is the first time you've apologized. You glub unhapplily before breaking out of his confused hold and storming out of the block, shouting over your shoulder, "You don't deserve any of this, Reelas Kamaya. You reely do deserve so much betta." You take a shaky breath, turning to face him. "I'm going for a swim, don't come looking for me. I'll be back." You spin on your heel, and huff out of the room.

You need some fresh air.

<*)))>< \- ><(((*>

You pull yourself up out of the clear bluegreen water of the sea by your lighthive about an hour later. You've thought long and hard about the events of the night, and you decide you can't take this anymore. You're weak. You can't take having a conscience. You've formulated a plan. It's a stupid plan, most likely going to go differently than you would like, but it's all you've got. You wring your hair out with your hands before slouching in the door to your hive. There's no sign of Reelas anywhere. He's probably hiding again, wondering why you're acting so weird; questioning when the other shoe is going to drop. You don't even bother looking where you're going while you go about your hive gathering the supplies for your plan.

After changing into a comfy yet stylsh pair of shorts and your favorite comfort-tee, you grab your bag. Making one last stop in the hall before your display case, and grab the fifth Bell, and begin to climb the spiral staircase going to the top of the lighthouse part of your hive. When you get there, you lay out the blanket you brought with you, and sit down in the middle of it, legs crossed, jade painted toes curling in anticipation. Your hands shake as you open the drawstring of your bag, and pull out your video camera and tripod. Next comes your compact. You need to make sure you look flawless. This video can leave no evidence of how you are feeling; it needs to be cool, collected, confident. All of the words that usually describe Kellen Musrae.

You dab a bit of your favorite jade coloured lipstick on, taking comfort from the product made lovingly with your moirail's colouring, and turn to click on the camera. "Shello," you flash a quick, easy patented Kellen smile. "You're probably a little conchfused. My name is Kellen Musrae, and I'm going to need you to pay very good attention to the contents of this video, ok? It's paramount.. As I've said, my name is Kellen Musrae. I'm going to tell you aboat myshellf, and you need to listen carpfully, because you sea. I'm you.

"Let's begin."

<*)))>< \- ><(((*>

You've been standing in the middle of the griefing ring for at least two hours now. You feel like you can't move. You don't know what would happen if you even tried. You can feel the buzz of blood just under the surface of the skin on your face, and you know that if you had a mirror you'd be able to see exactly what shade you were from a mile away. You finally find it in yourself to move after the complaints from your feet are joined by grumbling from your internal feed sac. You think Kellen will be hungry by the time you're done cooking. Seadwellers have great appetites, from swimming all the time, and to say she seemed upset before she left would be like saying that the Condesce was an old bitch- obvious and painfully understating. You decide to bring her lunch up in her lighthouse; you heard her go up a few minutes ago, and you know she only stays up there when she's very unhappy. Besides, you need to clean up all these shattered lightbulbs.

You notice before you leave that in the commotion, Kel left her Bell-Dyrim she'd called it-on the floor in the ring. You scoop it off the floor carefully, before deciding you don't like carrying Kel's weapon and instead surrounding it in a ball of psionic energy, making certain to dampen the clapper enough that it won't make any noise. When you get to the hall, you put Dyrim back in it's place, shivering a bit from the featherbeast texturing that has appeared on your arms. There's a plaque in front of each of the almost-gaudy stands, and you notice one is missing-Belgaer. You read the plaque for the fifth Bell: "Belgaer, another tricksome bell that seeks to ring of its own accord. The thinking bell, the bell most necromancers scorn to use. It can restore independent thought, memory and all the patterns of a living person, or slipping in a careless hand, erase them." Your warm blood runs cold, and you drop your plans of a passive-aggressively romantic meal that would be served with a garnish from one of She-who-isn't-important-enough-for-a-name's plants, sure to win over Kellen's heart.

You start to levitate and fly up the stairs, thumping your face against the trapdoor, which of course, is locked. You can hear Kellen saying something, it sounds like she's recording a video, and you can hear her crying. You pick up the words "the end" and you start to panic all over again. Giving up on the trapdoor you jet as fast as you can to the nearest door, and fly yourself up to the window in front of the lighthouse, pounding frantically against the shatterproof glass. Your girl is sitting there, huddled in a mess on the floor, holding that god-damned Bell. She glances up at you, meeting your eyes as you start to sign the words you've wanted to tell her since you first saw her, waking up confused after your time in her basement: "I love you."

It's too late. You know it's too late, and there's nothing you can do to stop her, there's nothing she can do to stop herself. Her arm has already begun the swing and you cover your ears and wish that you could join her in this scream because again you're too late you're always too late. You had your chance to get the girl and you blew it like the useless slave you are. Your blood-pusher (heart, Kell had said, blood-pusher was a stupid lowblood term and she wouldn't stand for you using it around her) breaking while you watch her beautful form go limp and slump upon the blanket she brought out. You wish you could just hover and watch her sleep, (not in a creepy way, you just want to make sure nothing happens to her) but the sun is starting to come up, and while Kellen's behind sun-proof glass, you're out in the open.

You decide there's nothing you can do now but wait, so you get back down to the kitchen and start to make the preparations for her favorite meal. You just hope that when she comes down she'll be able to remember it.  
  
<*)))>< \- ><(((*>

When you're done, you've had to stop the video at least eleven times to start over. The last take, which took at least an hour to record, is what you've decided to keep. You started crying about fifteen minutes ago, and you don't really want that to be the first thing you see when you wake up. At least you hope you wake up. You've never tried this before, mainly because you're not stupid, at least you never thought you were. The most recent events in your life have started to prove otherwise. You stretch uncomfortably, grasping the handle of Belgaer in your hand and take a deep, shuddery breath.

You jump at a sudden noise from the floorboards, and your eyes jump to the trapdoor, which you'd locked. Probably Reelas come to tell you he hates you, platonically. A few seconds later a staccato pounding starts up on the window in front of you, and you choke back a few tears when you see Ree pounding on the glass. He begins to sign, and the words you make out send a shock through your body, much like his psionics would if you were to touch them. He's signing "I love you."

You start to grin with joy at the fact that he doesn't hate you, in fact quite the opposite when you feel your arm moving. You curse inwardly as you remember what the plaque says: "another tricksome Bell that seeks to ring of it's own accord." You try to stop, but as luck would have it, you're too late.

You let out a scream and try not to, but in the end you ring the bell.


End file.
